How We Began
by CatGal15
Summary: Please R&R.
1. Prologue

"Anyone see where the loser went?"

The search for the bullies' victim was called off when the teacher hit the bell, making it ring loudly. "Ah, we'll pick it up tomorrow," another bully said, and discussing their next method of torture they headed inside to collect their things.

When he heard nothing more, Prince Harold slowly lowered the loose fence board, peering out into the schoolyard from the other side. Shaking, and wiping a dirty hand across his forehead, he leaned the board against the fence and proceeded not to go into the school, but instead to walk home.

 _When I become king, those guys will all be banished, to a far land_ , he thought bitterly, as he always did each time school ended.

Coming into the kingdom almost an hour later, the first thing he heard was, "How was school today?"

"Fine," he mumbled, as he always did.

His mother's expression changed drastically, going from content to angry in a second. "Then there is no excuse for your bad grades," she reprimanded him. "Starting next week you'll be attending a _public_ school."

Normal kids might have been upset at the notion of leaving behind all their friends. But normal kids would have had friends to leave; and his parents were only worried when their son's only question was, "Do I still have to do my homework?"

The following days were filled with resigning Prince Harold from one school and transferring him to another; and as each day passed, Prince Harold grew happier and happier that he would not be attending a school where people only knew him as a member of the royal family.

So it was with hope that he gazed upon his new school at nine in the morning on a drizzling Wednesday. Checking himself, he took off his crown and dug a hole, into which he placed his crown and buried it well. Then he ran into his new school, eager to introduce himself as a rich but normal boy.

He had no idea it was here his life would change forever...


	2. Salutations

Upon filling his lunch tray with all the foods he found appealing, Prince Harold turned to look for a seat. Instead, his eyes were drawn to a beautiful young woman. She ate alone. The students were all ignoring her...and it was probably because of the crown on her head.

He almost dropped his tray. When he had regained composure he started with renewed purpose to the princess's place in the foodcourt; and she looked up at him in surprise when he put down his tray across hers. "Are you saving this seat?" he asked kindly.

"N-n-no," she stammered; and quickly turned her blue eyes down to her tray. Her blond hair was long, and she kept pushing it back behind her ears.

 _My mother could teach you how to pin it up_ , Prince Harold wanted to say. How he longed to reign with her at his side...

She looked up at him, studying him. He realized she was looking at him the way the students in his old school had always looked at him; but this time he didn't mind. He smiled at her and she looked back down at her tray, a pink blush flooding her cheeks with color.

"What's your name?"

"Lillian," she muttered, without looking at him.

He told himself she was just shy and began eating.

"I don't like you," she said quietly.

What? What kind of fairytale was this? He had found his perfect maiden, and she was telling him off?

"Please leave."

"I...I..."

"Go," she whispered, staring intently at her mashed potatoes.

He got up and grabbed his tray. "Well, since you were kind enough to say please," he snapped, and weaved through the maze of tables and chairs, leaving her to sit under her cloud of gloom.

Brokenhearted, he sat elsewhere, and not too long later another girl joined him. "She's like that with everyone," she told him. "It's probably because she's royal. Those people are always rude."

Having lost his appetite, Prince Harold took his tray to the garbage, dumped it inside and put his tray on the nearby counter before beating a hasty retreat.

_

With dirt on his hands and under his nails, he pushed the door open to the cafeteria and pushed his way back through the crowd. Seeing his fellow students back away, looking in obvious shock at his crown, he held it up so they could see it, and he once again approached Princess Lillian.

She jumped when he set the crown before her. She looked up at him again. "It's you," she murmured.

"I prefer to be called by name," he answered stubbornly.

"Which is?" she answered consideringly.

"Harold. _Prince_ Harold," he answered, and they slowly shook hands.

"So that's why you wanted to eat with me," she murmured.

"Yes. Well, maybe tomorrow we can," he answered, and retrieving his crown he walked out of the cafeteria with a smile on his face.


	3. The Deal

Prince Harold was indescribably happy to have changed schools. No longer trying unsuccessfully to avoid getting his head dunked in chamberpots, his grades had skyrocketed; and he and Princess Lillian could always be found eating together. Notes were passed between the two, and they often visited each other. He felt confident to say they were becoming good friends.

And yet...there was a certain void in his life; a void that only she could fill. He loved her, but was not loved by her in return, which left him sad and overwhelmed. She was glad to be his friend, but nothing more.

But more had to happen. He couldn't imagine a life where she was not his queen.

And so, when a businesswoman moved into town, claiming she could help anyone and everyone reach their goals; Prince Harold broke down. Unable to resist the temptation of manipulating his friend's emotions to his advantage, he turned back and went into the office.

It was a nice place, though all the paintings and drawings depicted the same woman; and the smoke out of the chimneys were much too colorful to be at all natural. Standing there with a funny feeling in his gut, he ignored the fact that what he was doing was wrong. He gave his name to the clergy and sat in one of the chairs, waiting for his name to be called.

"Harold?"

He looked up, but didn't move.

" _Prince_ Harold," the woman corrected, though he was the only patient there. "Olivia will see you now. Room twelve," she added, opening a door that led into a hallway.

He stood and walked into the hall, closing the door. There was a faint but disgusting odor in the air, and he lifted his shirt over his nose. On his way to the twelfth door, he passed a pair of people, both of whom wore masks and carried goggles.

He stopped outside the door and knocked. It was opened quickly. "Harold, come in," a middle-aged woman said, in a pleasant voice much accented like his own. "I'm Olivia."

"You know my name?" he asked, as he shut the door.

"I'm a woman of many talents," she answered simply, and pulled the thick blanket tighter around her neck. "Now, tell me about your troubles. Why are you here? Please," she added, motioning to the chair behind a desk.

"Uh, well, it seems the maiden I want to court only likes me as a friend," he stated blandly. "I know it's immoral to force her into a relationship, but I just can't see myself spending my life with anyone else." He paused, and when he realized what he had said, he quickly amended his words. "Not that I'm calling you immoral."

"Pish-posh! I know I am; but I don't care. Sometimes, Harold, this is the only way to fulfill your dreams." She sat heavily in the chair behind the desk, facing his. "If it eases your conscience, I also offer a way to back out of the deal, even after it's taken place, to all of my clientele."

He felt a heavy weight lift. "Oh, good, that does help...How would that work?" he added.

"Oh, yes, I guarantee it!" she answered, choosing to only hear the last four words of his question. Ignoring his confused look, she leaned forward. "Now, Harold, before I give you my aid, I have just one question."

He waited expectantly.

"How open-minded are you?"

"It depends on what I'm judging," came his fast reply.

"The more...unnatural side of life," she told him, and unhooked the cloak to free her pale gossamer wings.

His eyes went wide.

"How open-minded are you _now?_ " she inquired.

"What...How...What are you?" he spluttered.

"I am the Fairy Godmother. I can make your dreams come true, Harold, but first we must be completely honest with one another."

"What if...What if I would rather back out of the deal?"

"All this would be confidential, whether you accept my help or not."

He bit his lip. She had sort of roped him into the promise of secrecy. Well, he might as well benefit from it.

"I give you my word."

She took a small bottle of bright blue liquid. "Then, go make a picnic for you and your maiden. And have her drink this. Her heart will be yours when the drink is gone, but remember, you must kiss her before midnight if you want her to love you for longer than twenty-four hours."

He took the potion and thanked her, handed her a wad of cash and shuffled from the room with his heart in his shoes.


	4. Matchmaker

_I have more to gain than I have to lose. I can do this. It's the only way to fulfill my dreams...What choice do I have?_

He stood in the kitchen, watching his chef prepare a delicious, impromptu meal for two. With his parents away at an appointment, it had been the perfect time to ask for a nice meal only he could eat; and not even in the comfort of the kingdom.

He had been back and forth for two days, wondering if he should, and telling himself he could. Finally, yesterday, in the cafeteria he had invited Princess Lillian to his house, and she had agreed; thus continued the moral dilemma of _I love her, I love her not_.

Today was the big day. He could do this. What choice did he have? _It's the only way she'll ever love me. It's wrong...But it's the only way_.

Thanking his chef, he took the meal out into the front yard, where he had asked to be assembled a table and two chairs. Setting the platter on the table, he took the potion from his pocket and read the label.

 _Matchmaker_ , it was called. And there was a little poem beneath it:

 _Bring together my love and I;_  
 _Together, till the day we die!_  
 _Make us one, my love and me,_  
 _Give our lives our love to be_.

He uncapped the bottle and poured it into the drink across from his place at the table. Just as he put the bottle away, Princess Lillian rounded the corner, waving at him.

 _I'm going to betray the woman I love_ , he thought miserably. _She won't even know what hit her...Will she remember the way it was before? What if it doesn't work? Maybe that would be for the best. But then I get nothing..._

Maybe he could rotate the tray when she wasn't looking; then bump the poisoned drink off the table. And what if, since his happy ending wouldn't exist anyway, he brought Fairy Godmother's evil deed to the attention of the authorities...?

"Oh, everything looks so good!"

 _She's here. She's speaking. Sit up, smile, say something!_

"I made it myself," he said, sounding a little strangled.

"Really?" She looked everything over. "I'm just going to go wash up," she said, and walked toward the house. Pausing, she turned and looked back. "Harold?"

He practically jumped out of his chair. "Yeah, yes? What?"

"Thanks for inviting me; it was sweet. You're my only friend."

And then she was gone.

Prince Harold turned back to the table, trying to make a choice about which drink she should consume. He turned the tray, then changed his mind and turned the tray back to its original placement.

 _Give her the potion. No, don't!_ He let out a miserable moan and sat on the bench.

 _Can I really betray my friend?_

Well, if he didn't, if he chose the moral high ground, he would be left with nothing. He would have wasted his time, and the potion; and he wouldn't benefit at all.

But if he let her drink the brew, she would love him. He would have his queen, his bride, his princess.

But it would not be her will.

He turned the tray again, so the poisoned drink was nearest to him, and felt a cold wash of relief.

He did the right thing, he decided. He would just ignore the equal amount of sadness he felt upon his decision and they would enjoy their meal and part ways as friends, like always.

Princess Lillian walked out of the house and went to the empty chair, which instead of sitting upon, she suddenly lifted it and dragged it to sit next to him. Smiling, she turned the tray so the poisoned drink _was right in front of her!_ A diversion. Yes, he needed to distract her and then switch them back.

"Sorry," she laughed, "But I'm a vegetarian!" She picked up the meatless sandwich.

"So am I," he murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just...I like the...sky when it's...blue like that." He shook his head in disapproval at his foolishness and picked up the meaty sandwich, squinting far off into the leaves of the nearest tree. "Is that a cat up there?" He shifted his weight. "I hope it doesn't jump off and...and land in the food. Here, should we move?" He put his fingers on her glass.

"Nah, it's fine." She grabbed her glass, and without a choice, he extracted his hand. Suspecting nothing, she upended the glass and began to drink.


	5. The Long Haul

"Are you pleased with your purchase?"

Prince Harold didn't know how to respond. "I tried to stop her," he confessed. "But she drank it anyway."

"I see. And did you share a kiss before midnight?"

He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment at the rather intimate question.

"It's a simple business question, Harold. Maybe not ordinary, but like I said, we need to be honest and comfortable with each other. Now I ask you, did you kiss her _before midnight?_ "

"Yes," he griped, sounding remorseful.

She studied him. "Are you here because you wish to reverse the effects?"

"No," he answered, quickly and loudly. She raised her brows at him and he continued, "Actually, I'm here to thank you."

She nodded, trying to figure out his situation. "So you tried to stop her from taking the drink; and now that she has, you want to thank me."

"Yes," he admitted, "I've never been happier. What was in that stuff?"

"Magic," she answered simply.

"How can I thank you?"

Her smile of triumph left him suddenly feeling sick. "Well, there is a certain...ramification that comes with all Matchmaker, and all _similar_ , potions. If the couple conceives, the fate of their firstborn is in my hands."

"What? Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"You were desperate enough to manipulate your maiden's heart. I figured you were in it for the long haul."

"Witch!"

"Now, Harold," she gave him a stern, disapproving glance. "Let's be adults. You, as the buyer, had the obligation to ask about that which concerns you. It's called buyer beware. You bought Matchmaker; therefore, you deal with the consequences that come with it."

"I can accept buyer beware; I can't accept that you want to steal my daughter's future!"

Her eyebrows rose.

"Or my son's future," he said quickly.

"Harold, it's simple. I gave you your Happily Ever After; now you have to make a choice. You can lose your daughter and your wife; or you can keep your wife, and hand the fate of your firstborn to me."

He dropped his head into his hands.

"Take all the time you need to decide."


	6. Man Of The House

It was at school three weeks later that Prince Harold experienced an odd, nagging feeling in his mind, and it lasted from noon throughout the day. Upon coming home, he noticed a quiet ambiance throughout the kingdom; with candelabrum flickering softly in each room.

Coming into the den, he saw his mother facing away from him, looking out one of the windows. "Mother?" he asked softly. "What's happened?"

Her answer only confirmed that which he had suspected. "Your father...died, Harold," she replied, barely able to speak.

"How? When? Where?"

"Earlier today, at the wharf. He and his friends were goofing off...Playing, really. They got a little drunk, a little violent, and began pushing each other around...Except..." She roughly wiped at her eyes, refusing still to look at her son. "He fell off the pier and into the water, and hit his head."

Prince Harold leaned heavily against the wall. He didn't need further explanation. He knew his father hadn't known how to swim, and his friends hadn't, either. There had been no chance.

"Were they fishing?"

"Yes."

Prince Harold shuddered – so many times he had gone fishing with his old man. He could have _seen him die_...

"But let's not dwell on it." She turned from the window, peering at him through her tears. "You realize what this means, Harold. You're the man of the house now; and the king of Far Far Away." Abruptly she crossed the room. "Come, let's make the arrangements for your coronation."

"What about you?"

"I'm old, Harold, and I'm tired and alone. You and your Lillian are next in line for the throne..." Her voice began to fade as, without looking back, she left the room with hurried steps. Feeling overwhelmed and rushed, Prince Harold scrambled to catch up.

_

"People of our town, and our community; tonight, we bid farewell to a great man, and a noble king. Although he is far from our souls, our minds will see him and our hearts hold him for eternity." The queen turned her stone face to her son, taking from a satin pillow the crown her husband once wore. "Though there is an unmistakable emptiness now in his place; so too is there our son, who I now crown the new king of Far Far Away. May his reign be as fulfilling as my love is strong. Let the new era commence!"

She placed the crown on her son's bowed head, and as King Harold stood, he received a standing ovation that shattered into the night.

"Now," she continued, surprising King Harold, who had thought the speech was over, "Let us join our new king with his beloved, in betrothal."

More applause as King Harold and his mother peered out into the crowd, waiting to glimpse Princess Lillian as she walked toward the minister who had suddenly materialized beside the new king...

But neither could spot the princess.

"Lillian?" the queen called. "Lillian Pendragon, step forth!"

Into the silent night, a voice suddenly called out timidly. "She couldn't attend the ceremony, my Lady."

"Who said that?" The queen was squinting out at the crowd.

A petite and pretty woman raised her hand in response, "It was me."

"And you are?"

"I...I'm employed as a maid to the Pendragon kingdom, your Highness. I know she couldn't be here because I tended to the princess. She was very ill."

"Ill!" The queen put a hand over her heart. "With what? Smallpox? The plague?"

"Morning sickness, my Lady."

Gasps swept throughout the crowd and the queen turned her narrowed eyes to her son, who offered a lopsided smile of shy embarrassment. "Heh...Sorry," he mumbled.

"You should be! Well, then, on account of _morning sickness_ , the betrothal is hereby postponed until further notice," the queen announced, and with disappointed looks on their faces, the guests began trickling out of the courtyard. The queen gave her son one last stern glance of disapproval before gliding into the kingdom.


	7. Changes

Upon awakening, King Harold's first thought was, _What if our firstborn doesn't live? Would the deal transfer to our second baby, or would the deal be off?_

Opening his eyes he stared at the white ceiling, and he worried. He thought about his betrothal ceremony to Princess Lillian, and he worried.

 _What have I done?_

He should have left everything alone. Granted, the love of his life would hate him, but at least it would be her own natural emotions; and not something he'd meddled with.

Or hired somebody to meddle with for him.

He put hands over his eyes and rubbed slowly, feeling the burn of exhaustion. He didn't want to get out of bed, but he knew as a king he had duties to perform. With a sigh he stood and shuffled across the room to his armoire, and began picking out his clothes.

He felt like a fool. How difficult would it have been to leave Princess Lillian's emotions alone? Now, he was to be married; and the fate of their firstborn was in the hands of some lady.

But...

Would it really be horrible? As long as the child would survive the sacrifice his choice had cost her, and as long as he was there to help her through it...Maybe he could learn to live with his decision. Maybe, in time, he would be able to forgive himself.

But would Princess Lillian, if she knew?

Could he really go back to being just her friend, and not even her best? And if he did decide to back out of the deal...what would happen on the day of their betrothal?

He had to tell her the truth. It was the only way he wouldn't break under the pressure.

After getting dressed, he spent a few moments in front of the mirror, combing out his bedhead before exiting his room.

He immediately noticed the change. It surrounded him. Being a prince had, of course, been wonderful; everything was provided to him before he could ask. While that had remained the same, something else was sure different; and it was in the way his people greeted him. Instead of a chilly _Good morning, Prince Harold_ they now bowed or curtsied while saying _Good morning, sire_.

He weaved his way through the living room and stepped into the kitchen, where his mother sat, staring down at a newspaper and taking slow, deep breaths.

He sat next to her, but she spoke before he could bid her good morning. "After your coronation ceremony, _whenever that is_ ," she added curtly, making him blush, "I'm leaving the kingdom."

"What? Why?"

"My post is over, Harry. As I said last night, you will reign with your queen. I need to get away for awhile. Clear my head." She took a slow sip of her water. No, King Harold realized with a start, her wine.

"Mother, you're drinking _now?_ It's...it's eight in the morning!"

Her only response was to take another sip.

"You don't have to leave," he began, and she was quick to interrupt.

"I want to," she stated blandly. "I have to get out of here."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." She set the cup down on the island with perhaps more force than was necessary, then wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"So Dad's dead, you're leaving, and I'm going to be stuck here?"

"I'm not leaving for good, Harold." Her brown eyes slitted as she looked at him askance. "You're a king now. Try to remember that. You're not a boy anymore."

He accepted a muffin and a cup of tea, and the pair sat together in total silence. Basically his mother was telling him to strap on a pair.

 _How humiliating_. He looked at her and, with another choice that thrust him out of his sudden anger toward her, he decided he would tell not his bride, but his mother.

"I made a deal with the Fairy Godmother," he said crisply, breaking off a bit of his muffin.

His mother drew in a sharp breath, "Why on earth would you do that? You know she's bad news."

"I know nothing of the sort," he retorted. "She's the reason Lillian loves me. Without her help, I wouldn't have a bride."

"Yes you would."

"Not Lillian."

"Perhaps not," she said softly. "But Harold, sometimes...in this family...a prince and a princess are handfasted no matter how they feel about one another. It's their duty to unite the kingdoms. It's tradition."

"Well, tradition is stupid," he bit, and right away he knew he'd overstepped himself.

She struck out at him. "You watch your mouth! Tradition is very important."

He held his stinging cheek, looking quietly at her. _You're not a boy anymore_ , and yet it was okay to slap him across the face as if he were a petulant child?

She looked at her hand, then at her son's red cheek. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. But it _is_ important, to me. And it was important to your father."

He drew in a breath, angry at her all over again. "Don't hit me again," he said, in the cold and bitter voice of a stranger. Reaching blindly into his new position as the most powerful man of Far Far Away, he abandoned his breakfast and his mother and left the kitchen.

His feet found their own way, and soon he found himself standing in the throne room.

 _She was plastered_. But that wasn't really a good excuse...

...Was it?


	8. Confessions

A storm raged over Far Far Away. The rain was heavy, the thunder deafening. Sitting on the living room couch, King Harold stared into the intimidating work space that used to belong to his father. It was a simple space; just a desk with drawers full of papers, a couple of unlit candles that had begun to melt, and a feathered quill pen placed inside an inkpot given to him by his grandfather.

It was his now; and it was his job to go through his father's things and make sure he kept upcoming appointments. Filling his father's shoes had given him not just a kingdom, but also a lot of responsibility.

He would not tarnish his post within the first week.

Summoning all his courage, he stood and crossed the room. Lighting the candles, he sat in the chair, pulled the top drawer open and began putting the papers on the surface of the desk.

Outside, thunder roared and lightning flashed, illuminating the raindrops on the window. Thankful to be warm and sitting near a source of light, he took the quill from the inkpot and got to work, underlining the soonest appointments that were not crossed off.

 _Hear petition of son's potential brides, March 13, courtyard_. No thank you, he had his bride. _Plan Bridgette's birthday party, April 1st._ King Harold bit his lip, trying not to give in to his sadness and weep. Now his mother would spend her birthday a widow...

He leaned closer, squinting at the pages, stepping on his sadness. His mother was right; he had to act like a king.

 _Visit Mr. Wells in hospital._ Instead of underlining it, he gave it a big circle - Mr. Wells had been such a good friend of his father's. _Oversee creation of daughter-in-law's coronation crown - March 21st, Jeweller Jean's_.

Well, that could be fun. He turned the page and found himself looking at the end cover.

He had come so close to finishing his last book. Feeling a heavy depression setting in, King Harold gave the circled dates one last glance before shutting the book. Then he just sat there, silhouetted by the candlelight as he stared out the window, watching the lightning and the rain.

A knock at the door made him jump. "Yes," he called, "You may enter."

The door opened right away. "Sire, you have a guest."

"Send him away."

"It's...Princess Lillian, sire; are you sure?"

He felt his depression lift at the concept of seeing his love. "No, have her come in. For tea," he added, walking toward the door. The servant led him down the hall and into the living room. Princess Lillian stood there, toweling herself off and squeezing the rain from her hair. "Good grief, where's your coat? Where's your umbrella?" King Harold cried out, hurrying toward her.

"I gave them to a little girl who had nothing. Harold..." Her face was lit up by the radiant smile that dimpled her cheeks. "I know what we're having."

"You do?" he asked. "Tell me."

"A son, Harold. You're getting your boy." She reverently touched his cheek, " _This month_."

He outstretched his arms for a hug, and bumped awkwardly against her belly. Laughing softly, she came to stand beside him, and looped her arms around his shoulders, burying her head into his neck. "I love you."

Instead of feeling joy at her words, he only felt regret for the reason she could say them. "I love you too," he muttered.

"Your tea, your Highnesses," the voice shattered their romantic interlude. They broke quickly apart and selected their cups, then sat on the couch. Princess Lillian folded her fingers over his hand and smiled across the room. "I want you to name him."

When he was silent she looked over at him. "Thinking of names already?" she laughed, and sipped her tea.

 _Thinking of telling you the truth_ , he thought, but looking at her belly he was too afraid. If he backed out now, would she still have the baby? Or would taking away her love take away the result of the lovemaking? That seemed most likely.

"Lillian," he said, leaning forward and putting his cup on the coffee table. "I need you to listen to me. What I'm about to say will be difficult, because I've loved you for a long time, and I don't want you to leave me because of this...this...mistake."

"Mistake?" Her brilliant blue eyes searched him, one hand slowly moving to her belly.

He quickly caught on. "No, no, not that! It's not that," he assured her, and she relaxed. "I...I struck a deal with a...a woman named...Olivia," he said, and right away Princess Lillian's whole body went stiff. Her eyebrows went low and she studied him.

"For what?" she asked, knowing exactly which Olivia he meant.

"For...you," he confessed. "So you would love me. I-I'm sorry! I tried taking the drink back, but you..."

"You poisoned me?" Princess Lillian went pale. "You toyed with my emotions - y-y-you stole my _choice?_ "

He bowed his head. "Yes."

"I don't believe this! I thought you cared about me." Without another word, Princess Lillian poured her tea on his head, and left the kingdom.


	9. The Wish Factory

"Shall I get you a towel, sire?" asked a servant who tried to hide his smile.

"No, just let me drip," he snapped, as he slammed his cup down onto the coffee table. "Just go get my clothes!" He headed for the washroom and the servant obeyed his king's command.

 _It's okay. She loves me; remember that. You did the right thing. You did the right thing_...

When he was clean and dry once again, King Harold dressed and placed his king's crown atop his head. Once the weather cleared, maybe he should pay a visit to his love.

Meanwhile, shielding her eyes from the rain, Princess Lillian examined the building. On the front, big letters read _The Wish Factory_. Simple, yet meaningful, she decided, and with fury in her heart she crossed the puddled road and pushed the doors open.

Fairy Godmother was sitting on the desk, watching as a man painted her portrait. Hearing the noisy entrance, she looked over at her rain-soaked guest. "Your Highness! What in Grimm's name are you doing out of the house on a day like this?" she asked, not concerned enough to move.

"I need to talk to you about my _beloved husband_ ," Princess Lillian snapped. Her voice was icier than winter, and she pushed the door shut. "He told me about the deal you made with him."

"Oh, that? If you're worried about me being inexperienced, you have nothing to fear."

"I don't care what your hobbies are. I want you to reverse what you did!"

"Be very sure of that, Princess. As you must know, this would destroy your baby."

Princess Lillian's hands protectively cupped her swollen abdomen. "No. I won't have that. Isn't there another way?"

"No, child. Not if you want to stop loving him. Your only other option is to proceed with the birth, and hand your baby's fate over to me."

"What?"

"That was part of the deal," Fairy Godmother said, casting a quick glance at her portrait. "Didn't Harold tell you?"

"No! I left. I didn't want to hear his voice. Please, you have to find some other way. I'll pay you, a lot, if you just look."

"There is no way," Fairy Godmother answered, her voice harsher. "I've spent many years looking; don't condescend me. That is what _I_ do...because let me tell you this; my potions are far more powerful than your silly little crown. Furthermore," she continued calmly, as Princess Lillian withdrew, "I don't need your bribe. I get whatever I want."

"Really? And you chose a place that looks like this?"

Fairy Godmother's expression hardened. "Look, Princess, you have a choice. I suggest you make it."

Her hands still cupping her abdomen, Princess Lillian turned and walked out of the factory.

 _I might love him still. But I won't forgive him_.


	10. Alone In The Night

The storm raged on throughout the night, and Princess Lillian's hands remained still on her protruding belly. She thought of Harold, and she thought of the land-forsaken witch who had helped him manipulate her.

He had paid her. He had paid a total stranger to mess with her feelings.

And she'd done a heck of a job. No matter how furious she was, she still loved him.

 _At least I'll have my boy_ , she thought, and she smiled fondly at the ceiling. She didn't know if she could sleep on her stomach, so instead of being in bed, she lay on the living room sofa, propped up by five pillows; her head craned to the window. On the table beside her, there were saltine crackers, several magazines, and a tall glass of water that was once cold. Beneath the table, there was a bucket, just in case.

At least she was prepared for something.

She would have to make amends with him, she decided. Before the baby arrived. It was the right thing to do.

 _One_ of them had to do what was right.

But she would wait until the storm passed. She had gone out there in the misery for him once already; she didn't want him thinking she would do anything for him.

She had her limits. Being cold and wet while pregnant was one of them. Until the wheel on the horse carriage was replaced, she would just stay at home and take care of herself.

She rubbed her stomach fondly, going through the alphabet to find all boy names that sounded good with theirs. She would forgive him, but he would not get to name their firstborn child. He had lost that privilege when he had hired the witch. Nor would he get to name their secondborn. He had lost that privilege when he had spiked her drink.

Maybe he would get to name their third child. Until then, he would have to settle for being given another chance.

Feeling better, Princess Lillian closed her eyes.

It wasn't until dawn a few hours later that the pain began; searing its way like a knife through her stomach. Jerking awake, she reached over and grabbed the bucket; promptly vomiting into it.

Then the pain subsided. She gave her mouth a quick rinse and eventually drifted back into sleep.

She didn't think anything of it until noon the next day, when she realized she hadn't felt the baby kick for many hours. With her mother out for lunch with King Harold's mother, and her father out shopping for a new wheel; it was easy for Princess Lillian to slip quietly out of the kingdom and head to the hospital.


	11. Goodbye

"You've lost the baby."

That was all Princess Lillian could remember hearing.

"You've lost the baby."

He had been the one reason she would forgive the man she loved. And now, she was all alone in the delivery room, touching the cold face of a quiet baby. Her baby. Her son. Her first child.

"Goodbye, son," she whispered, stroking his sweet face.

Who would he have become?

She hadn't even gotten to name him. Too soon, he had been taken. And suddenly the nurse was there, lifting him from her arms.

"I am so sorry for your loss, my Lady."

The words meant nothing. Her son was gone forever.

All alone, she wept her grief and sadness, her anger and despair, until through the hot tears that blurred her vision she saw a triangular shaft of light fall onto the covers. Looking up, she saw only her mother; wearing an expression too similar to her own. All of her regal grace crumpled and she held out both arms, silently summoning her mother to her side.

"Oh, Mummy, I already miss him," she sobbed, as her mother stroked her hair. "Why did this happen?"

"I don't know, love."

"He...he...was so p-pale and..." She pulled away and wept into her hands. "And I never got to see his eyes!"

Her mother kissed her hair. "Brown."

"What?"

"They were brown," her mother said softly.

"Th-they were...Harold's eyes?"

"Yeah," her mother whispered, and kissed her again.

Then the door to the room opened and King Harold stumbled breathlessly in. "I just heard!" he exclaimed, hurrying to the bedside. He grasped her hand. "I...I don't know what to do..."

"Sit with me," Princess Lillian answered vulnerably, and King Harold obeyed.

"I'll just be outside." Her mother squeezed her hands and left the room.

Princess Lillian drew in an unsteady breath, and King Harold reached over to wipe the tears dripping from her red-brimmed eyes. She looked exhausted and terribly sad. Her hair was frayed and her forehead was moist.

King Harold took a deep breath. "I made another deal with Olivia."

"No, Harold, no..." Her head fell back on the pillow.

"Oh, don't worry. I think you'll like this one. It's my way of telling you I'm sorry."

She lifted her head and squinted at him. "You couldn't just say so?"

"Actions speak louder than words," he answered simply.

"What's the deal, then?"

He felt his cheeks go warm. "That I...turn into a frog for twelve hours every time I lie."

Princess Lillian slowly began to smile. "Really?"

"Yes." He squeezed her hands and her smile grew wide.

Brushing back another tear, she looked down at their conjoined hands, and then met his gaze. "I want to marry you."

He was a little taken aback. "Are you sure?"

She nodded and relaxed against the pillow. "I love you, and I don't want to be alone again."

"Then, you won't be." He leaned in to share with her a quick kiss. When he pulled back, Princess Lillian tried feebly to smile past her fatigue.

"Sleep."

And there he sat, brushing his hands across hers until she passed out. He gently extracted his hands and left to retrieve a glass of water and something sweet for when she awoke.


	12. The Wedding

Many months later, when King Harold and especially Princess Lillian had recuperated from their loss; a date was set for their betrothal ceremony. Fitting well into his new role, he had not only finished his father's business, but he had also started a new book of deeds.

The courtyard of the kingdom was filled with people and abundantly decorated. With a smile on his face, King Harold eagerly looked out at the crowd that quietly and respectfully waited for the main event. He sat on the single throne placed before the crowd, at the center of the middlemost aisle. Everything was perfect. Soon his bride-to-be would glide across the carpet to him, wearing a lovely gown; and they would engage in the ritual that would bind them as man and wife.

His left hand cupped the pole of a gilded staff. His right hand lay flat on the thick arm rest of the throne; empty, waiting to receive the satin pillow on which would be placed the crown of his bride.

The sound of laughter and voices came to him on the wind. It was most definitely a time of joy. Though the grief of losing their firstborn would be forever, he looked forward to sharing his life with her. It had been decided that she would move into his palace, precisely one week from tonight; to allow her the time to pack.

And all he had to do was be honest, and he wouldn't become a frog. It would hopefully serve him well during his reign, and keep him honorable.

His eyes were soon drawn to a feminine silhouette lurking within the doorway that separated the patio from the interior of the kingdom. Barely able to distinguish her regalia, King Harold stood and approached the edge of the platform, tapping the staff to silently request the attention of his guests.

The courtyard fell quickly silent.

"Men, women, and children; tonight we thank you for your attendance, on the day of our union. Let me now present to you Princess Lillian Pendragon, my bride and your new queen!"

The crowd all stood, twisting their heads to glimpse the mysterious maiden who still lurked motionlessly in the shadows.

With all attention off of him, King Harold motioned for his bride to join him on the platform. After another brief hesitation, another shadow joined hers; and then they came stumbling out together, Princess Lillian limping and leaning heavily on the arm of her mother-in-law. The crowd was silent, watching her.

King Harold's eyes slowly roamed down to the hemline of her dress; where instead of seeing the toes of her left foot poke out, he saw her ankle.

His mother walked Princess Lillian up to the platform, and when King Harold helped her the rest of the way onstage, his mother turned and glided silently back into the kingdom, as if she did not want to witness her only child getting married.

King Harold waited for the crowd to turn their attention from his mother back to the ceremony. When he had all or most of their attention, he accepted the crown, lifting it slowly off the satin pillow. Then he turned back to his bride, who grabbed the arm of a nearby guard, startling him. Standing on her good foot, she leaned forward and wobbled only slightly as King Harold placed the crown of the bride atop her head.

The crowd erupted into applause and Queen Lillian stood, smiling out at the many guests.

"Welcome to the family, my beautiful wife," King Harold was saying.

"And you to mine, my...beautiful husband," Queen Lillian said, wobbling again. She grabbed onto his shoulders and gave a short, breathless laugh. "I need to sit."

Without further comment, King Harold pulled her arm over his shoulders, put his hand on her furthest hip, and helped her hop to the throne. "Entertain them," he said, and turned away.

"What...How? Where are you..."

King Harold heard the anxiety in her voice, and did some fast thinking. He tapped his staff again. "My people have assembled enough food for all of you. Enjoy." He motioned to the left side of the courtyard, where several uniformed butlers swarmed a table, pulling pots off of big helpings of food.

With the guests distracted, he handed the staff to his new bride. "I'm sure it makes a good cane," he said, and walked quickly down the aisle, leaving her sitting cluelessly on the throne, sputtering at his fleeing figure.


	13. Rose-Colored Glasses

Pushing open the double doors, King Harold stopped cold, letting the doors swing shut behind him. His mother sat calmly on the couch before the fireplace, reading a magazine.

"What was that?" he asked, as he strode to the couch.

"What was what, dear?"

"That! The way you just...left. I thought you wanted to see my wedding!"

"I know what they're about, Harry...I've had one of my own, you know."

"Stop calling me Harry. It's Harold; I'm a man now. A king." He rounded the couch to stand beside her. Reaching down, he took the magazine from her hands. "Would you just listen to me?" He tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. "If you had already moved out, you would have _demanded_ an invitation."

"Harold...sit," she said, and he complied. She looked over at him. "Maybe I just don't think this girl is the right choice."

"Wha..." He stared at her. "How could you say that?"

"How could _I?_ Harold, her love for you is not real. It's smoke and mirrors."

" _She_ proposed to _me_ ," King Harold responded.

"And she only loves you because she was forced," his mother said gently. "And if this Olivia lady finds something to hold against you, she can take it all away. And, Harold, I'm not sure she hasn't already begun."

"What do you mean?"

"Think of what...Think of _whom_ you've already lost." His mother looked sad. "I just wish you had found a nice girl whose love for you was...genuine."

"Excuse me, her love _is_ genuine."

"She's just a puppet," his mother answered hotly. "A test monkey. All I'm saying, dear, is be on your toes."

"I would, but you just stepped all over them."

"I'm sorry," she said simply. "I just worry about you."

Then they were quiet. With nothing left to say, she stood and glided from the room; leaving her son and magazine behind.

Feeling bitter towards her, King Harold stood and went his own separate way, heading toward the patio. Pushing open one of the doors, he approached the edge.

And he stopped. Took a hesitant step back.

 _The fate of your firstborn will be in my hands_.

Gazing out at his bride, worry crossed his face.


	14. The Prophecy

"Of course it wasn't me...It was only fate."

Queen Lillian shared a glance with her new husband. "You deceived me once," she told the Fairy Godmother, "So how am I supposed to believe you now?"

"I let you love," the Fairy Godmother answered. "I am sorry for your loss, but it was not my doing. And if you don't believe me, ask Jane. She will confirm that in the past four months, the only reason I left my factory was to go home."

"So what about our deal?"

"It stands," Fairy Godmother answered. "Harold, you benefitted from our deal. I have not. Not yet. If you and Lillian wish to remain married, you will still delegate your child's fate to me."

"Just the one child, right?" Queen Lillian asked.

Fairy Godmother smiled, but it lacked humor. It only looked sad. "Yes. Just the one. And I promise you, it will not involve death."

King Harold looked at his wife, who silently put her hand on his arm.

"We accept," King Harold said quietly. "Right?" he added, looking to his wife.

"Yes," she answered simply. "I want a child with you."

"Then we agree I am in charge of his or her fate?" the Fairy Godmother asked.

"Yes," Queen Lillian softly confirmed.

"Good." The Fairy Godmother took out her magic wand and, without speaking a word, pointed it at the door. It blew shut and locked without having come into human contact. "Then I must discuss with you the plan I have already worked out."

"You've already figured everything out?" Queen Lillian asked.

"Of course...I'm a businesswoman. I cannot afford to stand still." She opened a desk drawer and tucked away her magic wand. "Harold...Lillian," she added, with an impromptu motion of her hand to the queen. "When your child comes of age, I will bestow upon him or her a curse that will take effect each sunset, and lift each sunrise. This curse will transform your child into an ogre, until true love's kiss breaks the spell."

"But what about the villagers? What will they think when they see the prince or princess turn into a monster?" King Harold inquired.

"They won't. Your job is to lock the child away in a tower; and when your child is mature, you are to hold a tournament and see who is brave enough to rescue your child. Whomever brings your child home will receive your blessing for marriage."

"What if they simply don't love one another?" Queen Lillian asked.

"Then I help them fall in love, as I have done with you."

Queen Lillian looked at King Harold, who nodded in consent; though he looked terribly sad.

"Wonderful. Pleasure doing business with you."


	15. Do Unto Others

King Harold strode down the hall and stopped cold in the open doorway of his mother's room. All he could see were boxes, of which there were so many that he could no longer see the bed; just the top of the tall and fancy headboard. "Mother?" he called, and suddenly she popped up from behind a wall of cardboard.

"Yes?"

"You're moving _today?_ "

"Soon," she answered. "I've put it off long enough. My new kingdom is just about finished; and now that you and Lillian are married and starting a family, I think it's best to make room for the baby."

"What baby?"

She paused, opening her arms over a box to drop in her pillows and comfortors. "Uh," she eloquently answered, "The baby you'll have in the future, of course. The distant future."

King Howard squinted at her.

"In, like...seven months," Queen Bridgette clarified shyly. Then she gave him an apologetic smile. "I thought you knew."

"Well, how come you knew first? _I'm_ the father. I hope," he added.

"She didn't want to get your hopes up," the queen answered softly. "But she knew I had a private family doctor, and she wanted to see if the baby was doing okay. She _had_ to tell me."

"I guess I get that." He watched her stuff the blanket into the same box. "But I vowed she would never be alone, as long as we were married. She should have said something."

"Well, now _you_ can," Queen Bridgette suggested, and smiled as her son left. Turning back, she stopped and looked down at a thick book titled Memoirs. Pushing a box back to make room, she sat and flipped through the pages. _Harry's first word - SUPERIOR! Beat that!_ Second memoir, _Cute! Harry's hood filled with water_. All the memories were dated, with a little footnote that read the approximate time they were written down.

Standing, and gently placing the book atop the blanket, she closed the flaps. How quickly they grew up, she mused, it seemed like last week he had been transferred from private school to a public school. Now here he was, happily married and expecting a child.

 _Oh_ , _cripes_ , she thought, _I'm going to be a grandma!_

The thought that immediately followed was, _I better quit drinking_. 

* * *

Author's Note: I know some of these chapters are super short; and for that, I apologize. But I'm having a blast; I think it's going well. I hope you do, too.


	16. Until We Meet Again

_(Five years later)_  
It was a cold winter's night, and Princess Fiona was watching the snowflakes fall on the glass of her window. Her parents hated the snow. They said it was miserable. But Princess Fiona saw and appreciated the intricate beauty in all the flakes, and lit by the moonlight they looked truly beautiful.

Then her door opened and Queen Lillian stopped, disappointed at seeing her daughter sitting up. "Oh, you're awake," she said.

That would make this part truly difficult.

Princess Fiona turned. Sitting there, in a white nightgown and silhouetted by the silver moonlight, she looked like the youngest angel Queen Lillian had ever seen.

"Is something wrong?" Princess Fiona was asking.

"No, darling, not at all. But...How would you like to go for a midnight ride?"

"Really? Okay!" Eagerly, Princess Fiona clambered across the bed, grabbing her stuffed cat. "Can I bring Felicia?" she asked, proudly holding it up for display.

"Of course," Queen Lillian answered. Actually, she was grateful; she would need something to play with while she raised herself in her tower.

"Come on," Queen Lillian said softly, guiding her daughter from the bedroom.

Climbing into the carriage, Princess Fiona smiled at her mother, who closed her passenger door for her. As her mother got in up front, next to her father, Princess Fiona looked down and her excitement dimmed greatly when she noticed the suitcase tucked halfway beneath the seat. She reached down and lifted it. Flipping it open, she looked at the contents, all of which belonged to _her_.

 _Her_ crown. _Her_ dresses. Something was wrong...Was she going somewhere?

Engrossed in what she was seeing, she barely noticed when the carriage began to move. Leaning forward, she felt beneath her seat with a feeling hand. When her fingers touched a handle, she grabbed it and pulled; retrieving another suitcase, which only held more of her things.

Feeling overwhelmed by a crushing sadness, she slowly closed the suitcases, put her chin in the palm of her hand, and stared outside. No longer did the view seem beautiful. It looked white, and barren.

The drive took almost an hour, but finally the carriage pulled to a stop in front of a steep hill, which seemed to lead up to nowhere. Her parents got out of the carriage and went to the back, and looked at the suitcases sitting directly in her lap. Her eyes, full of hate, met theirs.

"You're leaving me, aren't you?"

Queen Lillian shared a look with her husband, then knelt. "Sweetheart, we love you, very much. There's nothing in this world we wouldn't do to keep you safe. That is why we're doing this."

"I don't understand," was her sweet reply.

"It's a long story. But the short version is that if we return home, and you're still with us; all of this goes away. Your father, me, maybe even you."

"But I _am_ going away."

"Yes. Because if you don't...we could die," Queen Lillian answered. "It's hard to explain," she added, when her daughter only gazed at her. "But it's for your own good. It's for the good of all of us."

"What your mother is trying to tell you, Fiona, is that there is an evil woman who is _forcing_ us to do this," King Harold told her. "If she realizes we ignored her, she could make us suffer, or...worse."

"So you don't _want_ to leave me?"

"No, of course not," Queen Lillian answered, reverently stroking her cheek. "We're doing this to protect you."

Princess Fiona was too tired to argue; and anyway, she thought, it could just be a really bad dream. "Okay," she sighed, and threw her arms around her mother, who lifted her from the carriage. King Harold grabbed the bags, and together they ascended the hill to overlook a magnificent tower, accessed by a bridge constructed of boards tied together with rope. Below, lava bubbled and popped.

 _I'm ready to wake up now_ , Princess Fiona thought. But she was quiet, burying her head in her mother's shoulder and tightening her grip.

Slowly, fearfully, King Harold and Queen Lillian crossed the bridge, which swung and wobbled under their weight. Princess Fiona looked fearfully at her father until in her peripheral vision, she saw the rim of the lava pit. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and refused to open them until Queen Lillian bent and there was the reassuring safety of solid ground beneath her feet. Queen Lillian tried to pull away, but her daughter's grip was unyielding.

"One day your handsome Prince Charming will rescue you," Queen Lillian said softly, holding her daughter tight. "You'll live a happy life with him; and we'll see you again."

"Don't leave me. Please? We can just hide," Princess Fiona whispered, totally unaware that the Fairy Godmother was landing behind her.

Suddenly she was being ripped out of her mother's arms. Thinking it was her father, her eyes shot open wide in surprise, and she was horrified to see both parents, standing before her, as she was dragged away from them. Screaming, Princess Fiona twisted around and delivered a kick to the Fairy Godmother's leg. "Let me go!" she sobbed.

"Be still," the Fairy Godmother said, but Princess Fiona wrenched her arm out of the woman's grip and made a break for her father, who bent and opened his arms.

But, before she could reach him, she was surrounded by a strange colorful glow, which blinded her completely. She dropped to her knees, lifting her hands to shield her eyes.

When the glow died, a deceptively normal-looking girl was left in its wake. She just sat where she was, tingling from the effects, and totally stunned.

"We love you very much, sweetheart," King Harold said, and though he looked worried when she didn't respond, he simply turned and walked away; his steps slow, his shoulders sagging.

Recovering from the attack, Princess Fiona ran after him, but tripped over the suitcase and landed on her hands and knees. Too sad to care, she watched her parents cross the bridge for the final time, crying harder than she ever had before.


	17. Welcome Home

Picking herself up and dusting herself off, Princess Fiona turned to look into the dim setting of her new home. The winged woman had mysteriously left without a word.

Grabbing her suitcases, Princess Fiona pulled them along as she trudged into the tower with a heavy heart. Reaching the center of the room, she stopped when she heard an odd flapping noise behind her. She turned to see a crow sitting on the stone floor. Its caw echoed throughout the room.

"Begone, wretched bird!" Princess Fiona shouted. "I'm already upset, I don't need your diseases! Shoo!"

When the bird wouldn't shoo, she grabbed onto a chunk of charcoal the size of her fist and chucked it at the bird. Satisfied when it flew away, she turned and continued to drag her suitcases through the eerie stone room.

She hadn't gotten much further when there was another flapping noise behind her. She turned in exasperation, but saw nothing. Hearing it again, she looked up. Still nothing. Nothing but a missing roof. What a creepy place. Why couldn't they have put her in a secret underground tunnel, with hidden treasure and a stream?

She turned back and jumped in shock at the dragon before her. It was a little smaller than herself, but no less frightening. "Who are you supposed to be, my bodyguard?" Princess Fiona asked. She had only intended to speak sarcastically, as she had done with the crow; so when the dragon nodded its head, it was quite a surprise. "Oh," she said, completely flustered. "You breathe fire, right?"

Again, the dragon nodded.

"Good. Maybe you can roast us some dinner. I'm starving."

The dragon snorted in response.

"Hello, you'll be protecting me for many years. You might as well be nice."

The dragon made a different noise, which sounded suspiciously like a groan; then turned and stomped away a few feet before opening its wings and flying out of the castle.

Turning, Princess Fiona noticed a tunnel sloping upwards. It turned a corner, hiding the rest of the hallway behind a large, circular wall. Pulling her suitcases into the hallway, she was stopped when one of the suitcases hit the wall, and would not fit past it. She turned her fist sideways so that the suitcase also turned sideways; and without further problems she ascended the sloping tunnel. It was like a hall, she realized, but creepy and quiet.

It took awhile, but she finally reached the top. The door she found was closed, but not all the way; and upon pushing it open she found a room that was both big and cozy; both beautiful and creepy. There was a cot pushed underneath a window, which had no glass and overlooked the scary lava pit. She could still hear it from how high up she was.

Shuddering, she sat on the cot. It was hard, and there were no blankets; but at least the pillow was soft. Well, sort of. It was sort of like a rock, covered in an inch of feathers.

She swung her luggage up onto the bed and began taking stuff out. Her crown, which she placed on her head; Felicia the feline, which she placed on her pillow, and her clothes, which would go...

There was no closet, she realized. She leaned it against the cot and lay back on the bed; cold, hungry, tired, and above all, lonely. Without taking her eyes from the round stone roof, she let her hand trail up to unpin the curtains. They fell to conceal the dismal room, and she felt her spirits lift.

How long did she have to stay up here? She should have asked. Or...was it better to not know?

Angry and crushed, she closed her eyes and thought of her parents; of every memory she had of them, up until tonight, of course. She listened to the faint noise of the lava and the screeching wails of the birds.


	18. You've Got A Friend

_Mom says that when I'm old enough, my handsome Prince Charming will rescue me from my tower and bring me back to my family; and we'll all live happily ever after_.

Princess Fiona closed the journal she had found tucked away in her suitcase. Setting her suitcase heavily beside her bed, she stood straight and caught sight of the sunset. In a vibrant explosion of beauty, it only made the lava glow brighter; appearing as if the sky had caught fire.

Well, at least she would see that each evening. Eagerly, she clambered onto her bed; and upon doing so she noticed the sparkles formulating around her body. Forgetting the sunrise, she sat back and watched as a swirling glow coiled around her.

"Wow, I'm magic!" she decreed, quickly getting off the bed. The glow rose higher, circling around her chest, her shoulders, and her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and lifted both hands to cover them as the brightness shone against her face. When the luminscence faded, she opened her eyes.

Having both hands raised before her eyes, it was impossible to miss the fact that they were green.

Stomping through the castle, Dragon paused and looked up into the curving hall as Princess Fiona's scream floated through the passage, echoing off the walls. Tucking in her wings, Dragon squeezed into the hall and forced herself into the narrow tunnel. Ascending the lenient slope of the passage, she stopped when she looked at the torches dancing merrily on the walls.

Then she puckered her lips and blew out the flames. Her body bumped the smoking sticks to the ground as she brushed by. Pushing open the door to Princess Fiona's room, she stopped when she saw not a princess, but a monster.

Where was the princess she was supposed to protect? With an angry snort, she took a few heavy steps into the room and roared at the beast.

Shocked, and scared; Princess Fiona took several steps back, until her calves bumped against the cot behind her. "Shh!" she said, "Shush! I told you to be nice!"

Dragon stopped mid-roar and tilted her head, looking especially bewildered for a dragon.

"This has never happened to me before." Princess Fiona sat heavily on the cot, her hands shaking on the cold linen. "They could have _warned_ me! What kind of prince would ever rescue a freak like me?" She dropped her head into her hands and wept. "I'll be stuck here forever."

The young dragon took a few hesitant steps forward, nudging the girl's arm with her muzzle. Princess Fiona let one hand fall into her lap, while with the other she stroked Dragon's muzzle and was able to smile, albeit sadly. "At least I have you."

* * *

Author's Note: Another short chapter. Sorry. They really look bigger in WordPad...


	19. Looking Ahead

King Harold took his bride's hand and helped her out of the carriage. "I have an idea," he said, as she squeezed his arm. "Do you recall the couple we welcomed to the neighborhood last year, Iris and Duloc Farquaad?"

"Yes. Such a lovely couple," Queen Lillian answered.

"I've been meaning to tell you, they had a son. I can't think of a better fit for our daughter than another royal."

"Oh, what a splendid idea! What's the boy's name?"

King Harold paused only briefly. "Marilyn, but that's not an important matter. What's important is that by marrying him, our Fiona will have marital custody of a _whole town_. And," he added, as they walked across the courtyard to the kingdom, "Marilyn is already seven. Why, in no time at all he can begin training for swordplay."

"Two years difference," Queen Lillian said thoughtfully. "That's perfect."

"Like you," he answered, and she put his hands on top of his.

"Your Excellencies..." Suddenly a guard clanked around the corner. "Do pardon my interruption, but you have a most esteemed visitor."

"Mother?" King Harold asked.

"Uh...No, your Excellency. This way." Looking harried, the guard led them through the big main chamber and through the doorway of the living room. There stood the Fairy Godmother, holding the hand of a young boy; who had blue eyes and a mat of blond hair.

"F-Fairy Godmother," King Harold stammered, as Queen Lillian nervously curtsied.

"I apologize for arriving before you; but I have your daughter's ideal future rescuer. My son."

"I didn't know you had a son," King Harold answered nervously.

"Well, no, of course not! I just got him today," she answered mysteriously. "Anyway, I have it all planned out for you. Lillian, you said it yourself; Fiona will be rescued by her Prince Charming. So, that's what I named him!"

"Uh, Fairy Godmother, I don't mean to be a bother, but...I thought you said we were to hold a tournament?" King Harold inquired.

"Yes, and then I figured, why bother with that nonsense, when I can just whip up the perfect match for a princess?"

"Whip?" Queen Lillian inquired.

"Go play with the ponies and wait for Mummy," Fairy Godmother said, giving her son's shoulder a little push.

"Yes, Mother." He ran through the archway and bounded across the main chamber, his shoes thumping on the linoleum. Only when a guard opened the front door to let him out did Fairy Godmother speak into the silence following his departure.

"He is a product of this," she said, holding up her magic wand. "When that boy reaches adulthood, no woman, no matter her status, will be able to resist him."

"I...actually thought of her match, already," King Harold murmured.

"What?" Fairy Godmother's eyes went slim. "And have you discussed this with the boy's parents?"

"No. Not yet."

"You do realize, don't you, that I have a son and am standing _right_ here."

"Yes, but I was thinking it could be Marilyn Farquaad."

At the mention of his name, her cold fury seemed to vanish. "The son to Iris and Duloc?" she asked breathlessly. "My, that's quite a choice."

"What do you say?" King Harold asked hopefully.

"I say, let's make it interesting," Fairy Godmother answered thoughtfully. "Marilyn and my son will be the only contestants in your tournament; and your blessing will go to whomever gets to your daughter first. Do we have a deal?"

King Harold and his wife exchanged a glance. Upon her nod of consent, King Harold smiled and looked to the Fairy Godmother. "Yes," he said, and the pair shook hands.


	20. Dirty Work

Pushing his way past the metal bar, King Harold walked through the courtyard of Duloc. The concrete was gray and bare, giving off a depressing ambiance. Forcing back the gloom, King Harold kept his chin up and his stride filled with purpose. He had business to do.

Reaching the door, he lifted the intricate knocking handle and banged four times. The door was quickly opened by a guard. "Yes?" he asked, and then hesitated. Flipping open his visor, his cold blue eyes turned warm. "Oh, your Highness. Please, come in."

"Thank you." King Harold stepped inside. "I need to speak with Iris and Duloc; it's urgent."

"Right away, sire; please follow me." The guard turned and walked submissively through the palace, and King Harold followed, his steps unfaltering.

"My Lord, my Lady; you have an important guest. The king," the guard announced, as King Harold entered the throne room. Lord Duloc and Lady Iris stood quickly, and King Harold bowed to them and they to him.

"To what do we owe this honor, your Majesty?" Lord Duloc asked.

"Actually, if you agree to my coming proposal, it would be more accurate to say I'd owe you," King Harold answered politely. "Fairy Godmother has had Lillian and me lock our daughter away in a castle; and we have to wait for a worthy man of high status to free her."

"Yes, and?" Lady Iris asked.

"Well, while Lillian and I both think your son is the right match, Fairy Godmother has a different idea. However _your_ boy is three to four years older than hers."

"Do continue," Lady Iris answered.

"I'm wondering...I'm hoping," he amended, "You will begin training him in swordplay, and enroll Marilyn into the tournament we'll be having when our daughter is mature."

Lord Duloc looked thoughtful. "Does Fairy Godmother know you're here?"

"No," he answered right away. "She would turn me into a pile of ash if she did. But I do not want the son of somebody so manipulative to get involved with my Fiona. I've witnessed her power firsthand, and, I might add, I don't want her to be my daughter's mother-in-law."

Lord Duloc looked at his wife, then returned his gaze to King Harold. "I hardly know you, or your wife. But I will agree to this on one condition," he said, "That you are aware of and do not object to the fact, _fact_ , that we only enroll him to obtain higher status."

"And," Lady Iris filled in smoothly, without missing a beat, "That _we_ are to hold the tournament instead."

"Yes," Lord Duloc answered, "Things here have been so slow. I want people to remember us. And you, your Majesty, have been working yourself to the hilt. Take some time off; let us handle this."

"Fine," King Harold said quickly. He wouldn't object. After all, he too wanted to connect their power.

"Good," Lord Duloc said briskly. "We shall enroll him in the soonest fencing class...I don't care where it takes place. I should send him overseas if I must."

"Indeed. We shall train Marilyn to care about nothing else," Lady Iris said dismissively. "Go home now, and tell your wife all is taken care of."

King Harold was grinning as he left.


	21. Epilogue

Marilyn Farquaad was soon after enrolled into a fencing class, and he faced many opponents to strengthen his skill and prepare him for the job of rescuing the princess whose name was still a mystery.

Prince Charming, on the other hand, was enrolled into a fencing class several years later; not because he was preparing to rescue a princess, but because he wanted to feel powerful like his mother; who believed he did not need to work very hard because he was attractive. This left him highly unprepared, and thus, the princess he sought was already long gone by the time he arrived.

But it wasn't a happy ending for Marilyn, either. He lost his bride to the rot-munching ogre whose neck he risked for his own benefit. But after his parents passed, he had inherited Duloc, and threatened his people: _Anyone who calls me anything other than Lord Farquaad will quickly find themselves at the mercy of my blade!_

He also had his face painted nice and big on the floor of his courtyard. Although he knew there were many who disapproved of his leadership, nobody ever dared to call him by his first name, and so, because of that, he spared them.

And as for King Harold; the Fairy Godmother had later learned of his betrayal, and cursed him; making his frog form not only the form he would take when he lied, but also the form he would take after death. In that form, he would live, until he died again, once and for all. But, while he had betrayed the Fairy Godmother, he did not regret his actions, for they were a good chunk of how Shrek and Fiona met.

But he never told her this. Not even when they were at great odds over the fact that her curse had been lifted by an ogre.

A hero, after all, never asks for praise. He just sits quietly by, waiting for a chance to rise again.


End file.
